“No doubt.”
I heard the squeak of leather and opened my eyes again. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah. You take care.”
He suddenly sounded angry. “Okay. Um, thanks for saving my life…and my stuff.”
“Yeah, no problem. See you around.”
“Wait!” I called, I have no idea why, but he turned to face me slowly. “Thank you, Lincoln. Truly. What you did was incredibly kind and I appreciate it. If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me, okay?”
He nodded, the cloud surrounding him growing darker, then he was gone and I was left surprisingly bereft and confused by his departure, but was so tired, I fell asleep before I could unpack those emotions.
* * *
Doom
What the fuck did I just do?
I headed back to my bike and paced for a few minutes in an effort to calm down. Jesus, she’d called me Lincoln. No one had called me Lincoln in ten years.
Goddammit!
I needed to figure out a way to stay far far away from this woman.
Climbing on my bike, I got the fuck outta Dodge and headed back to the club. Walking in, I found our president, Doc, in an epic, knock-down-drag-out with his woman, Olivia. This wasn’t new. All they did was fight. Well, all they did in public was fight. But tonight was something a little different. Tonight, Olivia was crying. This was not normal. Or right.
“What the fuck, Doc?” I demanded.
I usually didn’t get involved in things of a personal nature, but when a woman I cared about was crying, I tended to investigate.
“It’s not him, Doom,” Olivia rushed to say. “It’s been a shitty day and I took it out on Tris.” Doc threw his hands in the air and walked away, and Olivia cried harder. “Tristan!” she called.
“At some point, Liv, you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass.”
“Fuck you, Doom.”
I crossed my arms and leaned toward her. “You offerin’?”
She let out a snort of derision. “You wish.”
“You might wanna go deal with that,” I said, and gave a chin lift in the direction Doc headed.
She rolled her eyes, but finally made her way toward Doc’s room.
I headed to the kitchen for a bottle of beer.
Lyric
Three weeks later…
PT SUCKED. CRUTCHES sucked. Everything sucked and I wanted out of my damn house. Melody had gone back to her twelve hour rehearsals, so I had no one to talk to but my cat, Booger. And Booger was an asshole.
“Meow.”
I glanced down at Booger sitting at my feet, his tail flicking back and forth and asked, “What?”
“Meow.”
